


behind closed doors

by Anonymous



Category: Stargirl (TV 2020)
Genre: Biting, Claiming Kink, Dom/sub Undertones, Enemies With Benefits, M/M, Open Relationships, Possessive Sex, Scratching, Unsafe Sex, larry crock's weird imaginary rivalries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:47:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26459677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Tomorrow night, they’re going to tear the JSA apart, so it’s probably bad form to sleep with Starman’s sidekick.If it is, it’s the one kind of poor sportsmanship Larry can tolerate.
Relationships: Lawrence Crock/Pat Dugan
Comments: 17
Kudos: 26
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i think this is the dirtiest thing i've ever written... well here we are 😔😔😔 welcome to larry "crusher" crock's imaginary rivalry with hourman.

Tomorrow night, they’re going to tear the JSA apart, so it’s probably bad form to fuck Starman’s sidekick.

If it is, it’s the one kind of poor sportsmanship Larry can tolerate.

It’s just as easy to hold him down on the uncomfortable hotel bed and pull his stupid striped shirt off him as it always has been, his jeans are just as easy to unzip, and the little whimpering sound he makes in Larry’s ear sounds just as good.

“Admit it,” Larry says, biting at the side of his neck hard enough to hurt. He lost his own shirt at some point before he even got here. “You missed this.”

Stripesy--oh, yes, of course Larry’s made fun of him for the name, but whenever he tries to do it to the guy’s face he just turns right around and mocks him for being a grown man calling himself  _ Sportsmaster,  _ which Larry has to admit is fair play even if his name is obviously much cooler than something named after a boring-ass flag--knees him in the stomach in response. “Remind me why I should.”

Larry smells blood in the water with that. A challenge.  _ And  _ it’s a special occasion, since by Tuesday he’ll either be the last JSA-er left standing or he’ll be sharing their shallow grave. It’s only when Stripesy yelps a little in his ear and he tastes his previously metaphorical blood that he realizes he’s bitten down too hard on his skin.

He sits up and readjusts them, shoving Stripesy--this would be  _ so _ much sexier if they actually knew each other’s real names, but alas--off the bed and down to his knees in front of him while he undoes the zipper on his own pants. The guy gets too nervous sometimes, all in his own head about what they’re doing. It’s better if he doesn’t talk during this part. Larry does more than enough talking for the both of them.

Larry hums when he takes damn near all of him in his mouth at once. Talking is what he’s good at. So he’s going to talk now. And he knows exactly what to say as he leans up against the wall and runs his fingers through Stripesy’s hair a few times just to make him hum contentedly around him.

“I know you have your JSA communicator in your back pocket,” he says. He looks down and his vision momentarily whitens as Stripesy pulls the flat of his tongue down over the head of his cock, exactly the way he likes it. Adorable. Maybe it helps him feel more in control to remember what it is Larry prefers. “I could reach down there and take it from you.”

All that gets him is an eye roll, which, uh, rude, and a particularly pleasant maneuver with Stripesy’s tongue, which is much more appreciated. Larry pulls at his hair to direct him closer,  _ deeper,  _ and presses more against his mouth to encourage him. There’s no sound of complaint. There never is. This is one thing Larry could never say he’s not good at. 

“Anyway,” he continues. “I could take it from you.” He grins, predatory. “I could take it and I could call your team here right now.”

Stripesy makes a choked sound and looks up at him with wide eyes. His cheeks are a fantastic shade of bright pink that Larry knows damn well goes all the way down--and not just because he’s looking at it now. He hasn’t stopped moving his tongue, even though his mouth has mostly gone slack. Good.

“What do you think they’d do?” Larry keeps his tone conversational even as he rocks forward on his heels and pulls at his opponent’s--at Stripesy’s hair again. God, he’s so fucking good at this. At times he’s done nothing  _ but  _ use his mouth until their timer runs out. Real marathon stuff. He looks  _ damn  _ good by the time Larry’s finished with him. “Seeing a pretty guy like you putting on a show like  _ this.  _ Wildcat, Green Lantern, the Flash, all those big guys...do you think they’d want to watch? Or would they just skip straight to joining in?”

All of Stripesy’s whimpers are making some wonderful vibrations. His eyes are a bit glazed over now, the hand not wrapped around Larry’s dick sliding down into his pants.

“Oh, I know.” Larry resists the urge to fuck deeper into his mouth and instead pushes him back by the shoulders. The thin strand of saliva still between Larry’s cock and those now nicely cherry-red lips makes him look downright obscene. Larry bites the inside of his cheek and it makes his smile hurt in just the right way. He bends a little so he can cup Stripesy’s face in his hands and stick his thumb in his mouth. “What would you do if I called  _ Hourman  _ here, and told him he could have you any way he wanted?”

The full-body shudder and half-gasp he gets for that one are perfect. He’s not sure if Stripesy even realizes he’s clinging to Larry’s wrists now, nails digging in hard enough to sting. Aww. Larry would almost wonder if he could get him to come in his pants from this alone, but that’s not what he’s after tonight. Still…

“You’d like that, right buddy? You’d  _ love  _ it if I called Hourman and told him to come here. If he wanted to watch me come down your throat. If he’d hold you down on that bed with all that strength and fuck you until you couldn’t breathe, right? Especially if we  _ both  _ took you at the same time.” Larry’s voice drops down lower with each sentence. Well, it’s not like he hasn’t thought about it. Everyone can see Starman’s sidekick has a thing for that guy, and Larry prides himself on his active imagination. “He could take you from behind, I could fuck your mouth. Or maybe you’d want to be looking at him while it happened.”

Stripesy apparently lost the power to form coherent sentences several minutes ago, but the broken whine and the way he’s shaking and how he squeezes himself and tries to fruitlessly press his thighs together says enough. God, he must be painfully aroused by now. It’s the thought of the  _ painful  _ part of that that makes Larry’s own arousal spike. 

Larry bares his teeth. “But you wanna know why I’m  _ not  _ going to do that?” He pokes him in the chest when he doesn’t get an immediate response. God, he has to do everything around here. “Use your words, buddy.”

A tiny sigh and a cracked “Why?”

Larry’s wolflike smile gets wider.

Stripesy’s not exactly small, especially not when compared to whatever the fuck the Atom’s got going on, but it’s easy for Larry to manhandle him back onto the hotel bed and straddle him again. He pulls Stripesy’s dumb jeans down some more--if your “superhero outfit” is a fucking shirt and jeans you can absolutely go to hell--so he can actually properly stroke him off.

“Because,” he says, and bites his neck again. “I don’t want any of them touching my pr--property. My property.” If this were Paula, he’d be fine saying the word “prey.” Even if it wouldn’t apply because for the two of them it’s the other way around. But Stripesy’s not his wife. Fuck knows if it’ll scare him off. And he doesn’t want to scare him off  _ now.  _ He drags his nails down his ribs, pressed close enough that he can feel every stutter of Stripesy’s heartbeat. “That’s what you are. And I don’t let anyone steal my food. Especially not  _ superheroes.” _

“I’m n--ngh--” This time, it’s Stripesy’s nails scoring down Larry’s back as he feels Larry take both of them in his hand. “I’m--ahh--”

“That’s what you miss, bud,” Larry continues, like he hadn’t tried talking at all. Sure, his body’s riding waves of pleasure, but he’s got a fucking  _ speech  _ to finish, thanks. “Always running around after people like Starman and the JSA. You need someone who wants to hunt you down and make you  _ theirs. _ You like it when I leave things afterward so people know not to fuck with Sportsmaster’s property.” He pauses, which makes Stripesy whine again. “Or fuck Sportsmaster’s property. Either works.”

“You shouldn’t t--ahh--lk about yourself in the th--thhh--ird person,” Stripesy somehow manages to gasp out, showing surprising strength of character. “It’s ffff--ohshit--”

It’s not the most surprising way someone could react to a finger inside them, and it’s not like he wasn’t expecting it considering he prepared and there’s no way he didn’t see Larry trying to wrangle the bedside drawer open--why the fuck he’d bothered to put lube in there when this was a hotel room and not his house was up for interpretation--but it still makes him laugh triumphantly. Fucking  _ finally.  _ Jesus, it’s like the guy taught Catholic school or something. Which he might’ve, honestly, considering how little they actually know about each other.

“We’ll make a sailor out of you yet, bud! Guess that’s how we get you to swear,” he says gleefully. Stripesy’s now biting one of his own knuckles so he won’t do it again while still moaning around it. “All I gotta do is remind you that you’re  _ mine.  _ Not Starman’s. Not the JSA’s. Not fucking Hourman’s.  _ Mine.” _

Not that… hmm. Not that Starman or the JSA or Hourman will exist by this time next week if they follow Jordan’s plan to the letter. Stripesy might not exist either. Larry  _ did  _ ask about sparing him, ‘cause it’s not like he was one of the heavy hitters who needed a baseball bat to the cranium and none of them really had personal vendettas against him, but the jury was still out. Only way he makes it is if he doesn’t show up to the slaughter.

He’s mostly gone quiet by the time he’s finally able to actually fuck Stripesy in earnest. If Stripesy himself cares about the lack of background commentary, he doesn’t say anything, just dissolves back into his usual routine of gasping while Larry holds him on the brink.

He grips him tight enough that it must hurt and bites him again. Collarbone, neck, shoulder, any skin he can reach. Larry can hear him whispering tiny pleas to him as he goes faster, finally allowing that deep heat inside him to grow the way it always wants to. He’s so good at this. Sure, it doesn’t take as much skill as it does to blow someone properly, but Larry can appreciate the effort he puts in.

Effort that’s yet another thing done for him. Because he’s his. His property. His conquest, or whatever the fuck. He’s going to come so fucking deep inside that damn sidekick that anybody who looks at him will know who--he bites again. Stripesy whimpers. For a minute it almost sounds like a name, and for a minute he imagines it’s  _ Hourman’s  _ real name, and that does nothing but piss him off enough to go faster. Maybe he shouldn’t have brought all that stuff with Hourman up, because now it’s stuck inside him like a champagne cork about to burst. (He laughs a little because it’s not the only thing.)

“Mine,” Larry snarls into his skin. Because he  _ is.  _ He claws down his ribs again and leaves thin lines in his wake and is most  _ certainly  _ not expecting  _ that  _ to be the moment Stripesy comes on both of them.

For a minute he stops and watches him tremble his way through it. Back arching and breath stuttering. He’s all marked up with scratches and bites that’ll bruise--and the one from the start that gave him that first taste of blood and that plus the taste of his own blood on his teeth and the feeling of Stripesy shuddering around him is what pushes Larry directly over the edge, too.

He prods at one of the bruises and traces his finger down the edge of one of the scratches and can’t help but grin. 

The JSA is going to die tomorrow. He’ll be there with one of the nooses.

They’d damn well better die knowing who Stripesy  _ really  _ belongs to.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wasn't planning to write more of this but 2 separate people were like "so they'll recognize each other in present day right?" so here we are. pat even gets to talk in this one! exciting stuff all around :)

It’s a game. Seeing when one of them will say something.

Of course he recognizes Stripesy--Pat. _Pat._ He’s got an actual name for him now. And he knows Larry’s name, too, which is very novel and exciting and so on and so forth. All of that is new and interesting, and it’s slightly dangerous to know that he got recognized in return. How that danger makes him feel is something he’ll only ever share with Paula.

But the _game,_ of course, is the best part.

It’ll be Stripesy--it’ll be _Pat_ who breaks first. They both know it. All he has to do is toy with him until he falls back into old habits. Marriage and kids and Jordan’s boring project and the fact that technically Stripesy’s supposed to be dead be damned. 

They’re just killing time until that happens. Waiting for all of Larry’s extra touches and praise and sharp smiles to add up and remind him what he’s missing.

Pat accepts his invitation to come to the gym, and he circles him there too, a tiger--no, no, not a tiger, _Paula_ was a tiger, and not a lion either, because male lions were little bitches who had their wives do all the hunting for them… a lynx, maybe, or a leopard--waiting for its prey to succumb. There are too many people there for something to happen, but Larry pushes boundaries anyway. (‘Sides, he’s not convinced the whole “too many people” thing would actually be a dealbreaker for Pat. _Stripesy’d_ sure liked the idea of an audience.)

Still, he doesn’t break. He doesn’t even bend.

At least it gives Larry plenty of time to fantasize about what might happen when he does finally give in. and then about some of their previous encounters for good measure. It had been somewhat shaky territory before, when he’d assumed Stripesy had gone the same way as Starman. Not out of any sense of guilt, that would be stupid, but because it was a major moodkiller to remember that the guy you were jerking off to the thought of was probably full of worms by now.

Sure, it hadn’t stopped him every time. There were a few fantasies that never failed. He was and is very, _very_ fond of the one where he gets to drag Stripesy down to that fucking ridiculous huge table Jordan had gotten someone to build for them for their headquarters and take him in front of everyone so that they’d know _damn well_ who Starman’s sidekick belonged to. Making him beg and cry and gasp his name and only his and absolutely ruin himself for Larry’s enjoyment and no one else’s.

Yeah. He’s still very into that one. And into the concept of making Jordan watch in general. Not because he thinks Jordan’s into either of them--well, he’s probably into Larry, or at least that’s what Larry himself assumes, because he has all the vanity of a peacock and the attraction to dangerous situations of someone married to Tigress--but because god fucking knew that man needed to have an orgasm. Maybe if he did he’d finally unwind for once in his damn life.

Larry stays relatively confined to his fantasies until the dam bursts. Patience pays off, which means this is the first time Larry has ever had to admit that Brainwave was right about something, even if he didn’t know exactly what Larry was bothering him about.

He invites Larry to the garage and launches into a big speech. It’s something about “having difficult conversations” and “needing to talk about the past” and probably a fair bit of _“oh, Crusher, you’re so big and strong, please fuck me until I cry.”_ Larry barely pays attention because he’s too focused on the victory of it all.

Larry doesn’t even have to be the one to kiss first. Stripesy’s the one who pulls him down and lets Larry push him up against the nearest wall and grinds up against his thigh. Still chasing what he must’ve known he’d been really missing.

Still, Pat balks when they get to the actual handsy stuff. 

“We shouldn’t do this,” he says. Big words for someone currently doing absolutely nothing to stop Larry from unbuttoning his pants. “This was a mistake, I should go--my wife, she’s probably--”

“Thought you said your wife was fine with it?” Larry noses his way along Pat’s jaw just so he’ll be able to feel his pulse spike.

“She’s…she is.” Pat squirms a little, uncomfortable, and Larry doesn’t have to be Brainwave to know what he’s thinking. He’s not even sure he knows Pat’s wife’s name (he’s definitely said it in the past minute or so, hasn’t he?), only seen her in passing, but if Stripesy’s tastes in how he liked to be treated during sex were the same, they’d probably get along just dandy. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea--”

“C’mon, bud.” The back seat of Stripesy’s car and the edge of the couch he can barely see in the other room and even the floor are starting to look more appealing than the wall. “Do you want to stop, or do you just think it’s a bad idea? Because news flash, pal, it wasn’t a good idea back then, either, and that never stopped you from getting down on your knees and acting all pretty for me.”

Those words of wisdom evidently sway Stripesy over to seeing his side of things, because he suddenly kisses back with vigor, reigniting all those new fantasies Larry’s been playing around with.

God, it’s so tempting to take him down to the tunnels. Hunt him through them like a stoat after a rabbit. Hold him down on that table and mark him all over and leave him a shaking mess that’s his and _only_ his. Hell, broadcast it to the rest of Blue Valley and beyond if they have to, so _everyone_ knows that Stripesy belongs to him.

He’s imagined how it would go so many times. Fucking him hard enough to make his brain shudder to a stop, to make him unable to think of anything other than Larry and how he was his property. It’s not feasible, but it’d be so very _good._

(Paula helped him refine the fantasy by describing the _exact_ reactions each of their coworkers would have. Mostly Jordan and Brainwave, because it was entertaining to imagine them watching and then trying to act like they weren’t affected by it. Bowin would be next after that, trying to keep her composure, pressing her legs together and looking away and acting as though she couldn’t hear the gasps. But Jordan wouldn’t know what to do except watch and avoid eye contact and pretend he wasn’t hard until he just _had_ to take care of himself, and Brainwave--Henry--would probably break from the strain of acting like his interest was purely scientific.

Maybe it’s just the hard-on for intensity Larry’s always had, maybe it’s just that they both seriously need to get laid, but goddamn sometimes Larry wants to hold one of them down to one of their dumb desks and see if he couldn’t get them to beg for it _harder._ Faster. Get Jordan to literally steam, and on a related note see if he could fog Brainwave’s glasses. Maybe that was why Brainwave didn’t like being in the same room as him whenever his thoughts started wandering. He got bored easily, sue him.)

“And you used to say _I_ thought too much.” Stripesy rolls his eyes and pulls Larry even closer. “The Sportsmaster I knew would’ve had me facedown by now.”

Larry grins. “Well, if that’s what you wanted…” 

He pushes him up the wall a bit so he can pick him up--it’s still easy. He’s no less tall, and he’s gotten a touch heavier, but c’mon, like that’d stop him even if he couldn’t lift him anymore--and goes to open the door to the car before Pat suddenly goes stiff.

“It’s not,” he says, and Larry stops to watch him with narrowed eyes. Pat’s back is against the side of the hood of the car, above the wheel well, and he squirms a little like he’s trying to make Larry fully put him down and let him stand. Larry does not put him down. “That was just a joke, I meant--look, we can--Barb said--” He’s blushing now. Aww. “I just don’t want to do...that specifically...right away?”

“Gotta warm up before the big game?” Larry reaches under to pinch his ass and Pat jumps a little.

“Something like that, I guess. But I could still...if you wanted, I could…” Stripesy licks his lips and looks down and back up again and brushes his hand over the front of Larry’s running pants. His own jeans are still unbuttoned. His boxers have little blue stars on them, which is both lame as shit and fucking adorable. “Do you want me to?”

“You miss servicing me, big guy?” Larry clicks his tongue. Pat blushes darker and looks away again. “Walking around with a sore throat and doing your job knowing how I wrecked you the night before?” He leans in closer so his mouth is by Pat’s ear. “Does your wife ever do that to you? Fuck your mouth with a toy?” Paula’s _real_ fond of that. Putting on a harness and holding him still until he chokes on silicone. “Does she know how good you look when you take it?”

“I, uh. I forgot how much you liked to talk,” Pat says after swallowing a few times. Like he isn’t visibly turned on by every word out of Larry’s mouth.

Larry rolls his shoulders back and grins as sharp as a boxcutter. “Then try to shut me up yourself.”

It’s very good to know that Stripesy wasn’t bluffing when he offered to blow him. It’s déjà vu, really. And of course he’s not _actually_ going to let him shut him up. Though it’s fun that he thinks he could.

Thinking about Pat’s wife is fun, too. He’s not sure that he’s attracted to her (his taste in women is very specific, namely one woman whose name starts with _Paula_ and ends with _Crock)_ but he’s certainly attracted to the idea of watching Pat--or Stripesy, maybe, he’s not sure which one he is with her. Maybe he switches off--get roughed up by her.

Would he talk to her? Stripesy hadn’t been very forthcoming about his preferences in advance. Just said yes or no when Larry asked if something felt good until he couldn’t talk at all. Which, sure, it wasn’t like it was _unattractive_ to have it be that the only things you could get out of someone were little hiccuping gasps every time you fucked up into them. That was fine. But he liked a little bit of _reception._ At least when he fucked his mouth there was a reason why he wasn’t talking back. And he could still look down at him. Like he’s doing now.

Maybe he could get Pat’s wife to film this. Or film the two of them. Sharpe would refuse (again) to cut together a highlight reel for him and Paula to go over together, but eh, his own editorial skills wouldn’t be too stretched by it. Get a video of Pat or Stripesy or whoever the hell shuddering and gasping while she rode him or pulled his hair to force his head between her legs--

And yep, there it is. There’s that flare inside him. Hungry envy. It’s different than with Paula. He’s not possessive over her in the same way. And he hasn’t been with anyone else he’s slept with, at least not to the same degree. _This_ makes him want to revisit his “fuck Stripesy on the table in front of everyone” idea. Ooh, maybe he should tell him about that.

Larry then becomes aware that Pat pulled back thirty seconds ago and is now squinting up at him, confused. “...Larry? Are you okay? Am I doing something wrong?”

“Nope. You’re all good.” It’s true. “Just realized this isn’t what I want. Up here, buddy. And I thought I told you to call me Crusher?”

Sure, he’s hard, and Pat’s mouth feels as good as Stripesy’s did years ago, and he wants to chase that release until he’s completely ruined those lips, but...that won’t work, to claim him. It didn’t before. Having that kind of experience is worth putting off the rush of an orgasm. 

Pat only gets more confused when Larry pulls his pants back up and puts himself back into them and pulls him to his feet when he doesn’t stand fast enough. He lets himself get pinned against the side of the car again. “What’re we doing?”

Larry puts his knee between Pat’s legs but doesn’t press. “I’m gonna get you off,” he says cheerfully. He pulls down Pat’s jeans some more. Then his boxers. “And then you’re going to go home and tell your wife about how good it felt and how much you liked it. And that _I_ was the one who did it.”

He spits on his hand. Pat’s watching him, wide eyed, and glancing back at the door to the garage like he’s worried someone will walk in on them. He didn’t look nearly as concerned about it when he’d been down on his knees. Maybe this is different because they’ll be face-to-face.

“You got any fantasies you’re fond of, bud?” He enjoys the little shiver he gets when he takes Pat in his hand and squeezes him. “I know you used to. Anything new in there? I wanna hear what you think about at night when it’s just you and your hand and you’ve been looking for a release all day. Is it your wife? Getting on her knees and taking you into her mouth or forcing you down and grinding against your face?” He rubs his wet thumb over the head of Pat’s cock and listens for the whine. “Or is it _me,_ fucking you senseless in a hotel room?”

He strokes slowly and waits for a real response. He doesn’t get one right away. Pat’s fingers dig into his upper arms and he looks anywhere but at Larry’s face. “It’s, um--” He coughs a little. “Both?”

“Both, huh?” Larry crowds closer and cups Pat’s face with his free hand, thumb tracing where there’s a smear of pre-cum on his lower lip. “You wanna tell me about that, champ?”

Oh, he’s really turning red now. “I like thinking about, uh. This. And about Barb, she…when we talked about it and I said I was going to talk to you, she said it might be fun if she made me watch you two.” Before Larry can jump on that and say what he wants to say (“You want me to make your wife _mine_ too?”), Stripesy says something else in a rush. “And sometimes I also think about your bat.”

Wow, okay. _Weird_ direction that Larry was absolutely not expecting.

Pat squirms at the expression on his face but Stripesy keeps going regardless.

“It’s physically impossible, I think,” he says. “And if it wasn’t, I can think of very few things that’d feel...less good than that. It just started happening after the first time, because you had it with you then, and I started thinking about you putting it in my mouth and making me suck it off or holding me face down and...you know. I know it’s weird, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Larry says immediately. It _is_ a nice image, at least the first one, Stripesy on his knees with his face flushed and his mouth on metal, tears in his half-lidded eyes and jaw burning from the strain. He’s been holding onto that without telling Larry for--shit, twelve years? “Anything else that gets you all excited?”

He’s steadily increasing the pace of his hand. Gripping tighter and letting Stripesy automatically press his hips up into it. He’d go ahead and kneel if that was something he was capable of doing-- _Sportsmaster_ only knelt for _Tigress,_ and absolutely not anyone else--and maybe deliberately slightly scrape his teeth on the shaft and watch Pat flinch and hiss in pain, because he looks good like this. Hard and aching and fitting perfectly in his hand and swallowing down little noises of pleasure.

“Mm--more just thinking about old times,” Stripesy admits. “Th--aaht--” His whole body goes suddenly rigid when two of Larry’s fingers trace a small circle on the skin just behind his jaw. It’s a weird little erogenous zone that it’s nice to know he still has. Fuck him hard and slow and press your mouth to that and he turned into putty. “That and Barb. Just Barb. Like you said. We’ve, um, tried some things.”

 _“Things.”_ Larry presses their hips closer while still leaving room for his hand. His own arousal isn’t as important as Stripesy’s. Not because he doesn’t want to get off. But because Stripesy needs to remind Pat just who makes him feel good. And right now it’s sure as hell not his wife. “Does she know you used to cry sometimes when I fucked you? Or that you let me bite you all over, so everyone who saw you would know what had happened?”

Stripesy opens his mouth to respond and finds two fingers in it instead. Larry continues as though he wasn’t almost interrupted.

“You know, I liked what you said about the bat.” He smiles again, somewhat lecherous. “I’ve thought about taking you at the gym. A lot of the people that come there, I’ve known them for years. They’d probably think it was funny if I bent you over and told them they could have a turn. I’d go last, of course. So you remembered who was running the show. Maybe scratch my name into your skin. You’d be so worn out by then, all fucked out. Would you like it if I set it up so they could use your mouth, too?”

He’s stopped actively stroking with his hand, letting Stripesy do all of the work as he tries to rock up into his hand, moaning around his fingers. Guy’s got a real thing for that. Being _shared._ And Larry’s fine with that in theory, as long as he always comes back to _him._

“That’s what _I_ think about at night,” Larry tells him. He’s as hard now as he is on those same nights. “You all ruined and exhausted and still begging for me to fuck you because I’m the best at it. You like that? Knowing I think about you and how good you are at taking me? How I want to show you off as _mine?_ Lotta people in this town who’d want a nice smart guy like you, but I can’t let them have you, can I? Gotta keep you all for myself. You listening, bud?”

Stripesy nods, half frantic. He’s gripping so tightly onto Larry’s biceps it almost hurts, and he manages to get the fingers out of his mouth just so he can half curl and press his forehead into the crook of Larry’s neck and mumble “S--Larr-- _Crusher--”_

Larry squeezes his hand tighter again and lowers his voice. “C’mon. You’re almost there. You wanna show me if you still look as good when you come apart as you did before?”

Technically, Larry doesn’t get to see it, because Stripesy’s face is still pushed into him when he spills into his hand with another little gasp, but he shakes just like he always did and he doesn’t complain when Larry wipes his hand off on his plaid shirt. (Great to know that Pat’s clothing choices were as fucking boring as they’d always been, good lord.)

He holds him up for a second before stepping back and pushing him down without bothering to let him pull his jeans back up. Stripesy--it’s Pat, Pat’s who hesitantly tugs at Larry’s pants, even though it’s Stripesy who takes the initiative and goes back to his prior performance.

Larry knows he’s already close. Very, very close. Hell, he was close before, when he made him stop. Now he knows he’ll be lucky to last longer than some kid on prom night. So he grabs the back of Stripesy’s head and thrusts deeper and rougher and enjoys the little sounds that come with that and the way it’s harder for him to avoid teeth because the pain is _good._

He imagines Bowin, crossing her legs and not looking at him. Jordan, forced into eye contact and horribly confused by his own obvious arousal. Brainwave, silently wishing his weird little leather dress wasn’t so constrictive. Paula circling the two of them, predatory. Pat’s wife, watching him ruthlessly fuck her husband and leave marks behind on every exposed inch of skin. The old JSA, watching him claim one of their own, seeing what their little sidekick mascot had been reduced to. Fucking _Hourman,_ even, seeing Stripesy beg for Larry and only Larry--

Stripesy doesn’t even really gag when Larry’s own climax hits with the force of a baseball bat, just rides it out. Pat even reaches up to lace their fingers when Larry lightly pats his head and pets his hair in praise.

Larry throws his head back and grins at the ceiling.

Yep. Still his.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I DON'T KNOW OKAY I DON'T KNOW THIS JUST SPAWNED FULLY FORMED INTO THE "ADD CHAPTER" TEXT BOX AND WHO AM I TO NOT POST IT. i guess this is a series for real now. can you expect more? i genuinely do not know. maybe. but if you have ideas for what to write to add to this please tell me.
> 
> also at one point in this larry calls pat "stripes" and while i know it's wildly ooc that pat wouldn't immediately go "are you just too lazy to say the _y_ it's a very easy sound" i unfortunately had to skip over that in favor of writing about pat getting his shit rocked. and another also is that barb gets to be upgraded from a mention to a full on appearance! yay :)

Larry’s quite sure Pat knows what he’s in for when he comes into the gym.

He lets his touches linger more than he should, even longer than before, and ignores the way Pat flushes and the knowing looks he gets from a few of the people he knows a bit more personally than just as a gym instructor. He doesn’t push him too hard, just enough for him to break a sweat.

Enough that they’re the last two people in the building.

He gets bolder, as the night gets later and the other patrons of the gym dwindle. He straddles Pat, at one point, and winks at the woman using the weights across from him while tracing his fingers down the front of Pat’s sweatshirt. And Pat lets him!

He kisses him for the first time that night just before the last other person closes the door behind himself. Larry’s not overly fond of the act in and of itself. It’s just putting two wet mouths together and seeing what happens. But it puts him in prime position to slide his hand up under Pat’s clothes, trace his nails down his chest with just enough force to scrape, and then bite at his lower lip. Pat moans a little and leans into it, arms tightening around him as he sits up enough to push his knee against the space between Larry’s legs.

Larry promptly stands up and nudges Pat with his shoe. “Go shower, then meet me back here in fifteen.” Pat blinks up at him and Larry prods him again. “You got that, bud?”

Looking confused, Pat stands up. “...Alright. Uh, I’ll be right back, then.”

Larry takes his absence to pull the blinds down over the windows and uses Pat’s phone to send a message to a number he’s never used before. The text is full of a lot of winking emojis. Then he sends one to Paula for good measure from his own phone letting her know he probably won’t be home by the time her and Artemis are finished with their archery practice so she doesn’t think Brainwave finally snapped and killed him for bothering him when he isn’t at the house in time for dinner.

Then he waits.

He doesn’t have to wait very long.

The positioning is somewhat awkward. This isn’t what a cable bench press is supposed to be used for. Larry had to MacGyver it to be taller, just for this, though he didn’t care enough to add any extra cushioning. But evidently Stripesy knew what he was supposed to be doing in the showers, because Larry barely has to prepare him at all.

“C’mon, Pat, talk to me here,” Larry encourages, letting him wrap his legs around him while he keeps his hips angled up so he can fuck into him slowly. Too slowly. That’s a part of the game. “How’re you feeling, buddy? You like this?”

Pat nods. His arms are around Larry’s neck and he’s smiling a little. Eyes partially closed. The… the gentleness of it is nice. It’s not what he’d expect from  _ Sportsmaster-- _ from  _ Crusher.  _ It’s not what he’s gotten from him in the past. The little sparkling under his skin makes the pleasure in his gut build nicely instead of crashing down fast and hard. “S’good.”

“Good. That’s real good, ‘cause I texted your wife and told her to come over here,” Larry informs him, shifting slightly so he can run one of his hands through Pat’s wet hair and also obviously so he can grip that hair and hold his head steady when he goes completely tense, eyes wide as he drops his arms and tries (and fails) to find a way to push himself up into a sitting position.

“Why did you--” Pat keeps making failed efforts to get up and to make Larry pull out of him. Larry bends more so he can pin him better, and so he can push his face against his neck and feel how fast his heart is beating. He bites at his neck and Stripesy relaxes somewhat again with a tiny moan.

“I got you. Just take it easy. Crusher’s got you, right?” Larry arches his back up enough that he can reach between them and carefully stroke him. He’s pretty hard against his stomach, and Larry’s grip unintentionally tightens enough for Pat to gasp as he thinks gleefully about Pat in the showers here with one hand over his mouth even though they were the only two around, opening himself and mumbling Larry’s name and trying not to slip. “I got you. We’re gonna be nice and slow until she gets here. That sounds good, doesn’t it?”

Pat narrows his eyes, but he does put his arms back in place and rocks up into Larry’s thrusts a bit more, making a small sound of complaint when he moves his hand so he can’t roll up into it anymore. “...And then when Barb gets here?”

Larry pulls at Pat’s hair until he tilts his head so more of his neck is exposed and bites down again, lighter this time, before putting his mouth next to Pat’s ear and murmuring low--“Then I flip you over and see if I can’t make you cry nice and pretty for me.”

Stripesy whines despite himself and wraps his legs tighter like he’s trying to pull him in deeper. He’s showing remarkable restraint by not touching himself.

“I just had to make sure you were ready to really take it when she got here, and then I couldn’t resist. That’s nice, right?” Larry bites again. He’s stopped thrusting now, not wanting to push Pat over the edge before his wife gets there. God, it feels nice just to be inside him, all tight from anxiety and shakey. He wonders if he’s had anyone fuck him like this since the night before they destroyed the JSA. If he has, Larry’s going to literally tear that memory out of him. “Couldn’t stop myself from having you just a little bit. You like that, don’tcha? Knowing you’re good enough that I want you that bad?”

“Yes,” Pat says hoarsely. “Yes, please--”

Larry sits up a bit and tugs Pat’s sweatshirt off for him. He lost his own clothes somewhere on the floor along with Pat’s sweatpants and the small bottle of lube he’d been using. He should really find that, he’ll probably need it soon. He looks down at him, already all sweaty again and trembling a little and trying to grab onto Larry’s wrists and very, very hard and leaking. The two little marks on his neck aren’t enough even though he licks his lips at the sight of them.

“I know. One of these days, I’m gonna mark you all over so whenever you look at yourself you remember who you belong to.” To illustrate this, he scratches at Pat’s ribs again and watches how it makes Stripesy shudder all over. Like it’s just the two of them in a hotel room all over again.

The door to the gym chimes when it opens and brings a rush of cold air with it until Pat’s “Barb” closes it behind herself.

Pat immediately tries getting up again, craning his neck to look, and Larry grabs his wet hair again--much tighter this time--and twists so he can’t. “Ah-ah-ah. Eyes on me, Stripes.” Pat pales and makes a strangled sound and _oh,_ isn’t that just _something._ He grins at that realization. Oh, this is rich. “Good job. You ready for the main event, big guy?”

“Please, don’t stop on my account,” Barb-something-or-other says, sitting down on the neighboring cable bench press. She unzips her jacket and folds it next to her. All the blood comes rushing back into Pat’s face at the sound of her voice. She’s barely spared a glance for Larry outside of the once-over he got when she came in. He’s… not used to that. He almost feels neglected. Oh, that won’t do at all. Well, it’ll change.

Despite all his playacting at anxiety, Pat’s totally compliant when Larry pulls out and stands and taps his shoulder. He even rolls over without any resistance. Larry traces a finger down the center of his back, skirting one or two moles. Just like old times.

He taps his chin in mock thought before pointing to Barb and then to the other end of the bench. “Why don’t you sit there?”

Now she looks him up and down again before nodding and straddling the bench--looking for all the world like she  _ decided  _ to sit there completely on her own, no, that wasn’t going to work at all--which makes her suddenly directly in front of Pat, even though they aren’t at eye level with each other.

“Hi, honey,” she says to him. Swallowing down laughter. He imagines her taking Pat’s cock into her mouth while he moans her name and a jolt of envy goes through him. Why did he invite her here again? Oh, right, because he wanted to absolutely torment Pat.  _ Not  _ Stripesy. 

“...Hi,” he says back. Larry can see the blush on his shoulders and hear it in his voice even though he can’t see his face anymore.

At least he has plenty of reference for how it’ll change when he pushes back in. The gasp is nice too.

He leans over his back to pull his hair again to lift his head up. Pat’s gonna have a sore neck by tomorrow. “Is he looking? I want him to look.”

Barb leans down herself and cups Pat’s face in her hands, supporting him enough that Larry lets go of his head. “Eyes open, sweetie.” She looks back up at Larry with a thin smile. “He’s looking.”

Larry digs his nails into Pat’s shoulder blades and drags down until he gets to his hips. The quiet cry he gets from that thrilling. “Good. Make sure it stays that way.”

Having sex with Paula is like having a fight. They tangle with each other on equal footing, bites and scratches that are mutual and fun for both of them. The night Artemis was conceived their house looked like it had been through a small self-contained hurricane from wall to wall. They both love it. Challenging each other and fighting for dominance even though they both know she’ll be the one who comes out on top every time. Literally.

Fucking Pat is like  _ winning _ a fight. Especially now, when Larry can completely lose himself in the pleasure of it all, the rush of going deeper. He’s going to fuck the memory of anyone else right out of him, as irrational as that sounds. His brain’s back in the loop of “mine, mine, mine,” the idea of claiming Pat in front of his  _ own fucking wife  _ making him feel almost dizzy with a kind of giddiness. He tries to stare her down, but she’s not looking, so he settles for just enjoying the feeling of the rush and the perfect pleasure around him.

It’s a lot sloppier, when he lets go of his hips to claw down his back some more. He has to replace one hand fast, keeping his hips propped up. He spits on the other hand and then reaches under, squeezing tight enough by accident that Pat yelps.

“Careful,” Barb says. She’s still looking down at her husband’s face, but only one of her hands is still holding his jaw. The other one is between her legs, fingers curled so the flats of her knuckles press in as she rocks her hips forward slightly. She’s not going to get off like that, but the flush of her cheeks and the hitching in her breath that he can now hear makes Larry _proud._ He’s the one who’s doing this to Pat. _Not_ her. She can be aroused by it, but she isn’t the cause of it. She doesn’t even know who he really is. “Pat. Sweetheart. Eyes open _now.”_

The way the pitch in her voice changes clearly has some kind of effect on Pat, and Larry’s pretty sure he opens his eyes again and sees what she’s doing, because he comes all over Larry’s hand without him having to do much of anything with a sob that he’s clearly trying to hold back--

That sound, of course, is what makes Larry sink his nails in deeper, and he has the satisfaction of still being deep inside Pat when he himself climaxes, and it’s enough that he bends over again and scrapes his teeth on skin with some difficulty as the pleasure washes over him. He hears Pat make a little sniffling sound and smiles with near mania. Goal achieved. Game won. Victor: Crusher.

He watches Barb gently stroke her husband’s hair, telling him he did good (“Shh, shh, it’s okay, you did such a good job, you were so good for me, for  _ both  _ of us, we’ll take a shower together when we get home, okay?”) while he lies limply on the bench. Pat’s trembling. Larry only pulls out so he can kneel and watch his face. Wipe at a tear with his thumb with as much gentleness as he can manage.

_ He  _ did that.  _ Him.  _ Not  _ “Barb,”  _ not anyone else. Him. Only him. Even if Pat probably--definitely--liked seeing his wife enjoy watching him get absolutely ruined.

Maybe he should get a mirror, so Stripesy can see what he looks like when he breaks like this. That one time he broke into Jordan’s house he saw that he had a pretty cool looking mirror headboard, he should ask where he got it. See if he can get his hands on one of those. Oh, shit, Barb’s here, he can ask her about filming the next time. If she’s there. Which she might not be. Because Stripesy’s  _ his,  _ not hers. But if she is there, he’ll ask.

Now he has to figure out how he’s going to get all of this cleaned up by the time the early birds get there tomorrow morning. Worth it. 

(He hears Jordan quietly bring up “Barbara Whitmore” in passing at the Injustice Society meeting the next day and has to leave to laugh his ass off by himself in the hallway. 

Yeah, totally worth it.)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is like so insanely self indulgent oh my god anyway this is partially for **masumi5**. i didn’t want to mess up the internal continuity of this (as much as there can be a continuity in crusher just fucking wrecks pat: the fic) by having either of these fantasies actually come to fruition, especially because pat’s would be impossible anyway since if they were ever in the same room larry would immediately throw hands with rex and also rex is now dead, but i really wanted to write pat’s and i figured why not also do larry’s especially since it was basically already prompted. (i'm doing something else with another of your suggestions though!) 
> 
> larry voice y'all don't think about fucking people in front of your coworkers? weak
> 
> (pat’s is set in the past. like this is something he’s thinking about pre-canon. before even the pre-canon of the first chapter/story in this. larry’s is just whenever because he’s always horny and insane.)

Larry knows it probably won’t happen, but that doesn’t stop him from imagining it. Or more accurately, from  _ planning  _ it. He’s got a loose map of the tunnels below Blue Valley in his head. He’s not sure what scenario would lead to Stripesy running through them. Maybe it would be after Jordan’s white picket fence wet dream was fully realized. Pat would be brainwashed by then, or something, but maybe he’d slip Brainwave a quarter and tell him to leave him out of it.

Yeah, that’d work. That’s what he’ll use.

So he’s stalking Stripesy through the tunnels, following his footsteps and his shadow and the way he’s breathing. He could just sprint and overtake him, but instead he waits for him to falter. Every time he tries to double back, though, Larry’s there, pushing him onward, until they get to  _ the  _ room. He wonders what Pat would think of the giant painting Jordan got commissioned of them for some unknown but probably fetish related reason. Eh, who really cares.

Stripesy can look at it for a second before Larry pushes him onto the table. It’s kind of high, he’ll need to sort of pick him up and put him on top of it, but that’s whatever. Larry will climb on top of it too, pinning Stripesy down while Pat squirms and looks around at the rest of the Injustice Society, who are suddenly somehow there. Except Steven. Larry doesn’t want to think about Steven while he has his hand around his dick. The simple act of excluding him is already thinking of him too much. Dragon King isn’t there either, but he’s not a part of the club anyway. William’s dead, which is kind of lame, because before that when Larry thought about it he was also reacting, and it was very entertaining to watch him turn bright pink all over with his hand down his pants. Brainwave’s  _ alive  _ at least, even if he’s in a coma. He’ll probably wake up from that and have learned nothing about taking that stick out of his ass. 

So just Paula, Bowin, Jordan, and Brainwave, then. Brainwave is going to offer to kill him right away. Do that fake blood clot thing he’s so fond of. Whatever. And Larry will throw his head back and laugh while Paula smiles knowingly.

The others won’t get it until Larry pulls his mask off and kisses Pat with enough force to hurt. Bowin will gasp, scandalized by this new low of his, to play with his food like this in front of them. Jordan will make a confused sound somewhere at the back of his throat. Brainwave will purse his lips and decide that he should leave, only to find himself unable to look away.

Larry will literally tear off Pat’s shirt, watching it cut into his skin before they give and rip. Pat will shiver and grab onto Larry’s shoulders and try fruitlessly not to let his exposed skin touch the cold table. It’d be a normal temperature if not for the flustered blue spreading under Jordan’s clothes. Larry’s going to rub his thumb over one of Pat’s nipples to watch him twitch despite himself. And then he’s going to get his pants off him somehow and pull him upright just enough to flip him onto his stomach.

He’ll get his own pants down and then take some creative liberties. In real life, he’s going to have to prepare him. Watch him shiver and beg for Larry’s actual cock,  _ please,  _ while still trying to force his fingers deeper. But that’ll take up a lot of fantasizing time tonight. So instead he skips mentally to the main event.

Pat will whimper when Larry actually pushes in. He might scrabble his fingers on the table a little, trying to push back up into him. His fingers will slip if he tries it because of all the ice. The cold saturating throughout the room will make their skin damn near steam from sweat. It’ll happen when he’s only just started to really fuck him in earnest. That’s when he’ll do it--when Larry will make eye contact with Jordan.

His eyes will be huge despite his best efforts, and his mouth will be hanging open, eyebrows furrowed. He’s aroused and confused by it, hesitantly touching at the raised fabric of the front of his pants because he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. There’ll be ice cracking open his skin despite his best efforts. Jordan will break eye contact after a moment and lick his lips, gaze falling to Pat’s half-closed eyes and the bites and claw marks Larry will have made sure to leave prominently on his skin, and he’ll loosen the collar of his shirt so he can breathe. 

Here’s where Larry and Paula argue about him whenever they talk this over, because Paula says that Jordan is so much of a control freak that he probably wants to be in Larry’s place. Making an enemy bend to the point of breaking before them. The moans from Pat’s mouth are things he wants to cause, albeit most likely not to Stripesy specifically. Larry, on the other hand, firmly believes that Jordan wants someone else to take control, and that he’d like nothing more than to be the one pinned to the table, ice spreading around him like an inverse snow angel. Whether he’s attracted to Larry--as he fucking  _ should _ be in Larry’s opinion--is irrelevant. He wants anyone to pound him until he doesn’t have a single thought left in his head and can just...give up.

That’s the version he somewhat spitefully choses to go with. The one where Jordan’s eyes glaze over as he pictures Larry leaving those kinds of marks on him, carved into ice. Brainwave will pick up on those impulses and roll his eyes, stepping away to “melt back into the shadows” or whatever the fuck it is he’s doing when he skulks around in the dark and acts like he’s a fucking...whatever those are, the blind lizard things that don’t evolve eyes because they live in caves and shit?

He diverts that thought to focus on Brainwave again. He imagines fucking into Pat harder and harder until he’s crying, desperate for a release that Larry’s fantasy won’t grant him, and thinks of Brainwave tapping into  _ those  _ thoughts instead. Stripesy’s desperate ecstasy while he tries to say that he’s  _ Larry’s,  _ he’s  _ Crusher’s,  _ he’s  _ his,  _ only his--

If anything could truly fluster Brainwave--well, he probably likes to be called Henry when he’s getting his brains fucked out--it would probably be  _ that.  _ He’ll watch with detached and scientific fascination and also with a raging hard-on as Larry scratches at Pat’s skin and bends to bite as much of him as he can reach. Paula says  _ he  _ would want to be in Larry’s place for sure, though again most likely with someone other than Stripesy held beneath him. While Larry still thinks he’d secretly want someone to take the control away, too, he definitely agrees that in general  _ Henry  _ would rather have someone beneath him than on top. Brainwave will bite the inside of his cheek and it’ll be the strongest show of emotion he’s willing to give and maybe Larry will fall for it if not for the fact that while tight leather is restrictive it also leaves little to the imagination.

He’d be about to climax then, since even in his own imagination Larry doesn’t think he could last all damn day without some outside help (ooh, could  _ Brainwave  _ do that? Like, with his mind powers? The guy basically dresses in fetish gear on the reg, he’s gotta have an answer to that. He should ask him tomorrow), just like he really is about to come into his hand now, but he’d hold off to look at Bowin.

Larry’s not attracted to her. Paula’s not attracted to her. But they already make it a game to annoy the shit out of her. This is no different. Her obvious arousal, the shifting of her hips, the way she can’t pull her eyes away no matter how much she clearly would like to pretend she wants to. She’ll be fidgeting with the collar of her shirt too, like Jordan. And Paula, Paula,  _ Paula-- _

Paula’s always the one describing Bowin when they talk it over, because she’s the one actually touching her. Again, Paula’s not attracted to her. She’s fine looking, yeah, but she’s so fucking  _ stuck up _ that she’s impossible to deal with. Brainwave is stuck up too but not in a way that actually affects them. Even so, Paula has an arm around Bowin’s shoulders and a sharp smile on her face as she whispers into her ear, cupping herself with her other clawed hand as she watches her husband do what they both do best.

He’ll wink at her as Pat finally falls apart under him with a massive shudder and stains that big table with it, hot tears sticking to his face from the ice as he whispers  _ “yours, yours, yours…” _

Larry comes with his usual manic grin and a sharp exhale. 

He rolls over to tell Paula about it without bothering to clean up.

**☆ ☆ ☆**

Pat knows it could never happen. The JSA  _ can’t  _ find out about what he does with Sportsmaster. None of them. If they ever found out, they’d kick him off the team at least--not that he’s really on it, is he?--and they’d all be so disappointed. They’d hate him for fraternizing with the enemy. But…they don’t know he’s thinking about this alone at night. They don’t know he’s skimming his fingers over the skin of his stomach, dropping lower. He hesitates just below his navel, but doesn’t stop.

It’s easy to think about. It’s  _ so _ easy to think about. He covers his mouth with his free hand so he won’t make a sound and lets himself imagine it despite the steps he has to take away from reality.

Sportsmaster is rough. He’s always rough and violent. He grips tight enough to hurt and he likes to pull Pat’s hair and scratch him. That’s a familiar fantasy that stems from a familiar reality. It’s very easy to think about him pinning him down and tracing his nails down the side of his neck. Pat’s memory builds him a generic hotel room. This could be it, for tonight. Just imagining what Sportsmaster has done to him and what he  _ will  _ do to him.

But Pat takes it a step further and, with a surge of guilt, imagines Rex, too.

He’s seen Rex naked before. Not on purpose, just because that’s kind of how it is when you’re all on a superhero team together. And it wasn’t  _ sexy  _ then, it was just normal. He tries to make it sexy now. Rex naked with his big hands steadying his shoulders. Rex wouldn’t be rough, like Sportsmaster, would he? He’s imagined Rex before, in ways he’d rather die than admit out loud to anyone, and he’s always been gentle.

Rex is… he’s big and strong, but he’s not mean. He wouldn’t even be _that_ strong, realistically, because Rex would never waste an hour on something like this. Oh, oh, unless he’d thought Pat was in trouble, then he might turn the glass and come to find him, and then he might decide to pin Pat down and use him to take out his frustration with a bruising grip--but Rex is still too careful for that, isn’t he? And he’d never use his precious time up on something as trivial as _sex_ with _Pat,_ anyway. 

He’s still big, in every sense of the word. He can still think about that. It’s not going to change any time soon. Pat makes a sound into his skin when he thinks about Rex easily holding him in place, one of those big hands wrapped around--around another part of him, mouth by his ear while he carefully stroked and telling him in that familiar pleased Rex way that he could relax, he’s got him,  _ they’ve  _ got him--

He imagines turning his head when Sportsmaster bites his neck and laughs in his ear, seeing him naked except for the dark makeup around his piercing eyes that makes him look sexy in a way Pat  _ knows  _ he should find ridiculous. He’d bite at Pat’s shoulder while Rex kissed his way down his chest, then down his stomach, before finally going lower in a way Sportsmaster hasn’t--won’t?--while holding Pat’s hips steady so he wouldn’t rock into his mouth too much.

Not that he’d put his whole mouth on him at once, he’s pretty sure. He’s daydreamed about it a shameful number of times. Rex would lick his way up and--and--Pat curls in a little on himself. Rex would carefully take the head of his cock in his mouth, trace with his tongue, before going all the way, taking it without even choking--

Even in the privacy of his mind, Sportsmaster is too demanding to let Pat’s secret fantasy get taken over by  _ Hourman.  _ He scrapes at Pat’s hips with his nails before pulling him back away from Rex’s mouth, and then--and then Pat’s mind starts going in a wildly different direction, careening downhill like an out-of-control car. He tries to stick to the realism his mental image of Sportsmaster was just trying to convince him of, but it doesn’t work.

He sees Rex and Sportsmaster tangling together, Sportsmaster kissing hard and clawing harder with Rex underneath him. Sportsmaster rutting against Rex’s thigh and pulling his hair like he pulls Pat’s, snarling that he was going to fuck him hard enough that he would see  _ why  _ Pat would always choose him over Rex. No, no, that’s not right, but his brain’s pulling up images of Sportsmaster making Rex choke on his cock, Rex moaning while he has Sportsmaster handcuffed and bent over a bench, the two of them grinding against each other in a way he knows they never would, those lovely (lovely?) bites Sportsmaster likes to leave behind marking Rex’s neck like they often do Pat’s.

Pat trembles in the real world. He forces his fingers to unlock, luckily before he hurts himself. He’s forgotten to actually stroke for at least the last minute, and he’s as hard as he’s ever been. God, he’s close, he’s so close, so much more than he’d been expecting. He feels bad about that. What if there’s an emergency and they need him and he’s not there to respond because he’s too busy pleasuring himself to the idea of one of his teammates and a  _ supervillain  _ fucking each other in front of him?

The guilt almost makes him stop. It lessens the arousal, at least, so he’s not so erect its painful when he hesitantly takes himself in his hand again. He shouldn’t be doing this. But...but he’s already here. Thinking about it more than he should. He might as well finish, right?

He puts himself in the middle again. Literally. Sportsmaster kissing him in a piece of the real intimacy that Pat likes. Rex holding him steady while thrusting into him from behind with enough force for Pat to feel nearly breakable but still careful enough that it doesn’t hurt as he whines out a plea for him to go faster that goes nowhere but into Sportsmaster’s mouth. Sportsmaster would laugh and relay that and tell Rex to  _ really  _ give it to him.

And Rex  _ would  _ go faster, and he’d lean forward and whisper that pretty soon half the rest of the JSA was going to come in and see how good he was  _ fucking taking it,  _ and that he should beg for it even harder if that was the kind of man he was. Desperate to be fucked by a supervillain and a superhero.

Pat would try to reach down to get himself off the rest of the way with his hand only to find that Sportsmaster was already there, telling him that he’d let him get off only if Pat  _ begged  _ to be allowed to. Pat tries to beg, only to find Sportsmaster’s dick in his mouth instead (his brain isn’t very forthcoming on the details of how this position is supposed to work), thrusting hard and fucking his throat.

“Please,” Pat whispers into his hand. He’s not sure who he’s talking to. Oh, lord, is this really going to--? Being used from both ends by two strong guys who wanted nothing more than to make him  _ theirs  _ and tell him that he belonged to them and only them and that he was owned by--

“So good,” Sportsmaster says in a soft voice he would never use in real life. He also unrealistically pets the back of Pat’s neck. At least the next words are in character. “We should tie you down so we could come over and do this whenever. Right, bud? You’d love that, wouldn’t you. If I could stop by and use you however much I wanted.”

Rex goes off script when he says “Next time I’ll bring toys. We’ll see how long it takes you to get off with something like  _ that _ on you, so we know you’re only coming for us.” He somehow manages to bite Pat’s neck right on top of where Sportsmaster apparently did. “You’d be ours forever. Only ours. Unless we felt like sharing you.” Now he sounds like Sportsmaster when he goes “You’d like that, wouldn’t you buddy?”

Pat makes a muffled noise into his hand that sounds almost like it could be stifled because of how his mouth is being used in his imagination. Sportsmaster somehow manages to lean up enough for Pat’s throat to almost burn and pull Rex down enough for them to have a messy kiss that Pat realistically wouldn’t be able to see, while Sportsmaster takes the distraction as an opportunity to dig his nails into the layered bite marks. 

Pat comes hard while biting his fingers to keep himself quiet, and can’t help but to imagine through the haze Rex cradling him through it, kissing him for every tremble.

It’ll never happen. Pat’s one thousand percent sure of it. And the guilt is still there.

It’s still definitely going to be what he thinks about next time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> by the way during the process of writing this i found out crusher is an inch shorter than rex. can you even fathom how totally pissed he must be about that. i bet that alone generates enough anger to power the entirety of blue valley sustainably.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is also for **masumi5** :)
> 
> again please tell me what to write in the comments i'm rapidly running out of ideas but writing these is...very fun and has really been helping me manage stress, so... (right now i'm thinking, like, something else set in the past? the first time, maybe? we'll see! i do have one more chapter already written though so that's good.)

The gym’s not the most comfortable place to have sex, but Larry doesn’t care and it’s convenient for both of them, so here they are.

It’s another night where it’s just the two of them. The other people who come to the gym know the deal with the two of them by now, especially because Pat comes in just before closing. Larry still makes him get the workout in, of course. He has a serious business he’s running here and he knows his priorities. Besides, he likes it when Pat’s all tired and compliant. 

That’s something Stripesy never really was. He’d let Larry manhandle him and so on, but he had a little more fight in him. He was more playful than needy. Larry definitely _likes_ needy. Needy and grinding against his leg is as good as rolling his eyes and bumping him with his knee or elbow when Larry’s particularly rough. That’s fine. He likes it this way. He’s just not sure he’d say he likes it _more._

Still, needy is fine. Needy is fun. Needy is Pat straddling him while he sits on a weight bench and rocking their hips together and chasing friction. He’s in only his boxers. Larry’s fully clothed. They make it work.

“Louder,” Larry says, tracing his fingers down Pat’s breast-bone without digging his nails in. Yet. “I wanna hear you beg for it. You think you can do that for me, bud?”

“Yeah. Sir,” Pat says, and oh, _fuck_ yes, Larry definitely likes that, enough that he moans aloud, somewhat exaggerated like every other thing he does. Which Pat absolutely knew he would, of course. Honestly, it doesn’t do anything for him to say it or to hear himself. Not really his thing. It’s just a word and he genuinely doesn’t get the appeal. But Crusher likes it, and that’s enough. “Please--”

“Louder than _that,”_ Larry insists. Now he scratches his chest a little and tightens his other arm around Pat’s waist so he can squeeze his ass because he knows it annoyed the hell out of Stripesy ten or so years ago. “I want to hear you beg me to hold you down and fuck you until you can’t breathe.” 

Pat raises his voice a little. It’s suitable and his tone is right. “Crusher, please hold me down. Please screw me until I can’t breathe. Uh--sir.” 

Oh, god, it’s _still_ like talking to a fuckin’ boy scout troop leader. Though the _sir_ is as much of a nice touch now as it was before. He scratches harder until Pat shudders. “That is _not_ what I said.”

“It’s close enough--mm.” Stripesy relaxes when Larry pulls him down by the neck and mouths at that sweet spot behind his jaw. “Larry-- _Crusher--”_

“I wanna hear you say it. Just a few words. You can do that, right? Let’s make it even simpler. _Please fuck me._ That’s all I’m askin’, pal. Three little words.” He bites at his neck a little and Stripesy grinds harder against him with a whimper. “Otherwise I might just have to go home. Maybe I could leave you here, all wanting, tie your hands up so you couldn’t even touch yourself. You’d better hope I’m the first person who comes to the gym tomorrow. A couple of the regular guys have a key, who _knows_ what they’d do if they found you.”

He can feel exactly how turned on Stripesy is (and he hopes that’s mutual and how hard _he_ is is just as evident), hands laced behind Larry’s head so all he can do to try to get himself off is rock against him. He offers no help on that front, but he does tease him by letting the hand on Stripesy’s chest go lower until it’s _almost_ low enough before pulling it back again. Stripesy whines. “Please--Cr--”

Larry continues to steamroll over his attempts at bargaining. “They all know you’re mine. But I’d let them take a turn. Maybe that’d be too much of a reward for you instead of a punishment. It’s getting you all hot and bothered now, right? Thinking about some of the people at this gym. I bet they think about you, too. Wondering why I’m so into you. They’d want to try out _everything_ to see what was so special. Maybe they’d do it all at once.”

Pat doesn’t try saying anything. Larry’s very proud of himself. He _loves_ getting a chance to just run his mouth until there’s nothing left to say. Paula doesn’t tolerate it unless it’s a discussion the two of them are having. So this is when it’s his time to shine. And he’s bright enough to light up the whole gym, thanks very much.

“And then at the very end you’d _still_ be begging for me. Because I’m the one you want. Nobody is as good as me, are they? Anyone else you’ve tried, they’re just not good enough. That’s why you came back to me when you got here. You knew what you needed.” He bites his neck again. “You knew who you belonged to, right? All those years thinking about me and how good I was and how good _you_ were at being _mine.”_

Pat’s damn near painfully clinging onto him now while Stripesy ruts against him with something like desperation. “Larry--I mean Crusher, I mean--I want--”

“Nuh-uh. You gotta really beg me for it, buddy. Three words. C’mon. Let me hear it,” Larry coaxes. They’re so close. They’re _so_ close. He wants to hear it. He might honestly come on the spot when he does. He’s been working for this for literally forever and the payoff is going to be as sweet as breaking a bone. 

“Please--” Pat suddenly freezes and all the blood drains from his face as Larry hears the sound of a hesitant foot step behind him. “Oh, _fuck.”_

Unfiltered glee rushes through Larry at the sound of that single fantastic word he has been trying to make Stripesy say for literally goddamn _years_ even as he turns to look over his shoulder. Seeing who it is makes him twist his whole upper body around.

“Hey, Jordan,” he says. He lets go of Pat so he can wave at him. “What’s up?”

“I just…ah…” Jordan waves his hands helplessly. He must have come up through the secret door in the back. Thank god he wasn’t all iced up. That would mean he’d have to kill Stripesy, and that’d just be tiresome. (And maybe worse than just that, but Larry’s not _sentimental._ He’s _not._ He’s like a shark. Always keep moving. That _was_ sharks, wasn’t it? Not barracudas? Probably.) “I was just stopping by.”

Pat makes himself as small as possible, something very difficult for a grown man to do, and ducks down so he can hide his extremely embarrassed face in Larry’s chest. Thank christ most of his body is already hidden by Crusher’s. Oh, god, he wants to _die._ Please, please just let him die. He would rather get thrown off a cliff than have to be right here at this moment. Please just let this all have been a strangely erotic nightmare that he was having that he was about to wake up from back at home next to Barb. Oh, no, _Barb,_ that’s _right,_ this is her _boss,_ oh _no,_ there is absolutely zero way this could possibly be worse.

(And how’s Crusher on a first name basis with Mr. Mahkent, anyway? Blue Valley’s a small town, so he shouldn’t really be surprised they know each other, but they seem...friendly? Larry’s friendly with everyone, though. But where’d Mr. Mahkent come from? Had he been back there the whole time? What in the world was going on? Was this something created just to torment him?)

“Well, you see anything you like?” Larry gestures to himself and raises his eyebrows at Jordan. Who, like Pat, is wishing he were literally anywhere else on the face of the earth. “I think we were putting on a pretty good show.”

Apparently Pat was wrong, and it could get worse. Did Larry just not feel shame? Ever?

Jordan presses his lips together, his mouth in a thin line. “I was just stopping by,” he repeats. “I didn’t mean to...interrupt anything.”

“Answer the question.” Larry stares Jordan down. His blood is nearly singing with excitement. At least the blood that isn’t going _down._ This is fantastic. He never planned for this. Pat’s arousal has obviously diminished with embarassment, but Larry’s is still going strong, and the ashamed shifting he can feel Pat doing on the other side of him is definitely helping.

“No.” Jordan averts his eyes first. Typical. Jordan’s preoccupied with his own thoughts, though, not concerned with a dominance battle. Should he be thinking of how to break the news to Barbara about this? Did he just catch her husband in the middle of having an affair? Larry _would_ be this cavalier about an affair. And “Pat” having an affair _would_ be very convenient for him. It’d break her heart to find out, but it’s not right to just leave her in the dark about this. Unless she already knows, and if her and Pat have that kind of relationship, then should _he--?_ “I should go.”

“Oh, you don’t have to go anywhere,” Larry says cheerfully. “Pat here’s real good at this. Aren’t you, pal?” Pat finds that there’s now a hand palming him through his boxers. He hides his face some more and prays for a freak bolt of lightning to cut through the ceiling and eviscerate him. “You should see how good he looks when I make him--”

“I really think I should leave,” Jordan interrupts. Louder this time. He sounds as mortified as Pat feels, so at least that makes it two against one. He awkwardly clasps his hands in front of him at perfect dick-covering height. Larry feels a rush when he sees that. Stripesy actually honest-to-god saying the word _fuck,_ Jordan walking in, Jordan liking it so much he’s got an awkward boner or at least the beginnings of one? This might be the second best day of his life. “So I will...do that.”

“I’ll give you a _real_ invite next time, champ.” Larry winks at Jordan. Jordan longs for the sweet release of death to take him. Larry wonders if maybe he and Paula should make real bets on whether Jordan likes to get on top. That’d make their conversations even more fun. “Get out the wine and flowers and set my buddy up nice and pretty for you.”

“Oh, god,” Pat mumbles into the fabric of Larry’s shirt. The embarrassment is doing a great job at stopping him from getting turned on again, but the pounding of Larry’s heart that’s almost as frantic as Pat is horrified and the fact that Larry is absolutely completely hard through the fabric of his running underwear and pants and that Pat can feel basically feel every single centimeter of that isn’t doing a whole lot to help. Neither is the idea of potentially getting shared and then reclaimed by Larry--by Crusher. Even though Jordan is Barb’s _boss,_ which makes it _so_ inappropriate, and Pat doesn’t think he’s even attracted to him anyway. He may have to think about that a little more to be sure.

“You don’t have to. Or, I mean, you shouldn’t do that. Because I’m not interested.” Jordan swallows. Interestingly, he’s making very little effort to actually back toward either the front door to the gym with its blinds pulled down or to the hidden door he came in through, which Larry focuses on. Most of Jordan’s energy is probably devoted to dealing with the horrible situation happening in his pants right now. 

Which it very much is. Jordan tries to tell himself that this is natural. There is a mostly naked person--thank god for the edges of the underwear he can see on Pat’s thighs--why is he looking at those?! His brain decides a better place to look is at Larry’s predatory grin and almost blazing eyes, at where his jaw meets the muscles of his neck and the nearly bulging muscles of his shoulders, and Jordan independently realizes that this was _not_ a better place to look--in front of him. A person who was in the middle of having sex (maybe?) before _he_ interrupted. (One of those people, specifically the naked one, being _Barbara’s husband.)_ It’s...natural...to have a response.

It may be natural, but it’s still awful, and the air that comes out of his mouth when he tries to breathe is visibly silvered. Larry raises his eyebrows at that. This is exactly the effect he’d always wanted something like this to have, and he couldn’t be more pleased. Jordan is achingly (oh, god, no) aware of that. He shivers for maybe the first time since he grew into his powers. 

Larry’s cheshire grin gets bigger. He clicks his tongue. “Sure you aren’t. Well, if you change your mind…” He winks a second time. And now he’s rubbing Pat’s dick through his boxers again, _why is he doing that--_ “I know you know where to find me!”

Jordan only trips over his own feet three times when he finally unfreezes and heads out the door. Larry is absolutely positive that he’s about to go home and have a very long and confusing night in the shower with his hand. He’s also sure Pat doesn’t notice the condensation on all the windows and the damp spots on the floor where the shards of ice Jordan accidentally left behind on the floor have melted, but just to be positive, he kisses him hard again to see if he can turn him even redder.

The sheer awkwardness of it all means Pat doesn’t get off that night, not even after he goes home to miserably tell Barb about his horrible experience with her boss. Eh, at least Larry got to, by getting Pat to blow him much more slowly than usual. That’s nice. Nothing will top the rush of hearing Stripesy swear and knowing that Jordan got a brief front-row seat to the best show in Blue Valley, anyway. He can’t wait to tell Paula about it. 

The next ISA meeting is going to be _so_ much fun. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jordan at home later that night: siri google am i gay or homophobic quiz


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **masumi5** and i are like that video of the guy DJing on the roof and then it pans over to two people jumping around to the music. this is the last of the prewritten chapters but i am Working On More.

Larry leans back in his chair, boots kicked up onto the table and mask in his lap. Jordan likes insisting that they all get dressed up for their meetings. Larry’s 90% sure that’s because he wants to make it less awkward for The Shade, who not only seems to never change out of his fancy getup but who isn’t even  _ here  _ this time.

It’s just a boring talk about how they’re going to kill the JSA. Sure. Whatever. He’s all for that for the most part. It’ll be fun. He’ll finally get to break Green Lantern’s skull in with his favorite (wooden!) bat, which he’s polished and is saving for the occasion, and maybe he’ll be able to beat the living shit out of Hourman and Starman, too. Exciting stuff. But good fucking god, it’s boring for them to just sit around this dumb table and wait for the day when it’s time for shit to go down.

Who could fault him for daydreaming a little?

There’s a great bruise in the vicinity of his rhomboid major from the night before when Paula shoved him hard against the edge of a table. He can feel it when he rolls his shoulders back. There are some shallow scratches on the inside of his thigh that are probably still red, too. He thinks about that and smiles thinly as he glances over at her. The corner of her mouth twists up. One track mind.

He flexes his fingers and imagines something different.

Stripesy’s thighs aren’t super remarkable. They’re normal body parts with a normal amount of muscle mass--so not as much as Larry and Paula--and he hasn’t given them a whole lot of thought. He pictures them now, though, dragging his nails down them deep enough to leave red behind but not to bleed. Oh, he could bite them too, maybe… That might be fun.

He leans his head back and considers his options. There’s not a big fantasy he’s returning to. He just lets his mind pick out snippets he finds enjoyable. Stripesy smiling, almost shy, while Larry pushes his shoulders down. Him covering his face with his hands and blushing all the way down while Larry holds his hips steady so he can thrust into him. How nice Stripesy’s mouth feels around Larry’s fingers while his other hand makes him moan around them.

Yeah. That’s it. He leans his head onto his hand and narrows his eyes. That’s a good one. He mixes in some impossible fantasy and thinks of Stripesy gasping out his real name in a mix of  _ LarryCrusherplease, _ breath hitching while his back arches. Trying to grab onto Larry’s arms to hold himself together. Oh, that’s good for sure. He’d come undone so fast if Larry would just let him give in. But he won’t, not until he finds satisfaction first, no matter how long that might take. And always one to follow the rules, Stripesy will listen and try to keep himself on the brink where Larry wants him.

“Sportsmaster.” Brainwave’s voice is full of disdain. “If you find our discussion  _ unengaging, _ you’re welcome to leave.”

In a heartbeat, Larry’s back in the moment. “Hm?” He cocks his head, exaggerated. “Oh, by all means, keep telling us the same thing you said last time and the time before that. We’re all on the edges of our seats.” He gestures. “Zarick’s been asleep for the past ten minutes.”

“I have  _ not,”  _ William mutters from across the table. 

Larry ignores him as per usual and continues. “At least make a powerpoint or something to speed this shit along.”

Paula huffs out a laugh as she toys with the edge of one of her claws against the tabletop. Bowin seems more annoyed than amused as he looks at an exhausted Jordan for direction. 

Jordan, for his part, tries to keep the peace, bracing his hands on the table. “You know as well as the rest of us that the work we do now will seal the future for our children. It may seem boring--”

Larry, desperate to stir some shit up and looking for a fresh outlet now that his fantasies have been so rudely interrupted, fakes a yawn and shrugs so he can momentarily feel the ache of the bruise. 

Brainwave apparently woke up on the wrong side of the bed because his panties are tied even tighter than usual. He draws himself up like a disgruntled goose. “If you can’t handle something as simple as this, maybe Jordan was wrong to choose you as a part of our new world.”

Larry, in response, projects the loudest possible “suck my dick” message with his mind, with a helpful accompanying image of Stripesy doing exactly that from the week before.

Brainwave stares at him. Larry stares back and tilts his head again, folding his hands in his lap on top of his mask. Considering he hasn’t suffered a seizure and died on the floor yet, he projects a few more interesting thoughts as they float by him during those tense seconds of the two of them silently just  _ looking  _ at each other.

Brainy’s a control freak of the biggest kind, so of course Larry puts him on his knees. He’s not totally sure if he’s into redheads, but he can see the appeal as he thinks of just how  _ good  _ that dumb smart mouth would feel closing around the head of his cock, long, thin fingers gripping onto Larry’s thighs for dear life. That brings him back to the earlier train of thought, so Brainwave gets some nicely projected hotel rooms that include Stripesy, a little more pliant than he is in the real world, begging for Larry to fuck him harder. Telling him how badly he wants it. Larry makes sure to include some of him in costume, ridiculous red and white shirt riding up while he touches himself for Larry’s enjoyment and chokes out pleas. 

For a moment Larry messes up and creates a giant and very detailed thought of Stripesy under  _ Brainwave,  _ which is interesting primarily because of the spike of jealousy that punches through Larry’s chest when he thinks about it. And also because it’s funny to imagine Stripesy writhing on a hotel bed--Brainwave’s got a fucking  _ huge _ house, though, so maybe he’d bring Stripesy back to it? Larry decides reflection is required--with telekinetic hands holding him down and touching pleasure centers he might not have even known he had. 

Happily, that brings him back to the previous idea. Telekinetic powers have gotta be good for sex, right? Unless Brainwave is as boring and snotty in that regard as he is in general and has never tried it before. Maybe Larry could show him. He shoves that thought at him. Larry using him as a personal toy, all that metapower and still brought to his knees by someone without any of it. By someone he dislikes as much as  _ Sportsmaster. _ Larry’s positive he could make him beg. He makes Stripesy beg  _ often,  _ and while he’s not as stuck-up as Brainwave, he’s still a superhero who refuses to swear, so that’s basically the same thing. 

Speaking of Paula, she’s openly grinning like a cat with a canary at how Brainwave’s face has gone pale, arms crossing because he clearly doesn’t know what else to do with them. His jaw is clenched enough that she knows it must ache.

“Henry?” Jordan says softly and with concern as he puts his hand on Brainwave’s arm. “Are you alright?”

Larry throws one final last-minute idea of him biting Brainwave’s lip hard enough to hurt and then retreats mentally, folding his arms behind his head and practically daring him to say something. With some disappointment, he notices that the table is basically at hip height for Brainwave, so there’s little chance of him getting to see any  _ effect  _ he might’ve had on him physically. 

“I’m fine,” Brainwave snaps. “Let’s just get on with this.”

Paula, who’s sitting slightly closer to him and is half crouched in her chair, gives Larry a sly wink after casually stretching enough to see over the side of the table. Success is his. Maybe he can get him to keep that surely absolutely humiliating erection (Larry would pay anything to know if Jordan has noticed. Or maybe he’d pay anything to know what he’s going to think the second he does inevitably notice) for the rest of the meeting. That might be fun. 

Brainwave refuses to speak to him for a week and a half, which is an unexpectedly delightful side effect. Larry decides to see how long he can keep that streak going the next time he tries to call him out for not paying attention.

It’s two weeks, but by then they reach an unsteady stalemate after Brainwave accidentally(?) projects the image of Jordan on his knees for him with the kind of soft closeness that Larry’s pretty sure is something only a fantasy could provide directly into Larry’s brain. It’s the most insane thing he’s seen since he and Paula made it a game to see how many different colors Grundy’s skin came in when it grew back in patches of moss and it makes him choke on spit at the (this time unofficial) meeting they’re in. 

And thus a truce is achieved. It’s been in effect for close to eleven years.

Larry’s really hoping Brainwave will be the one to snap and break it, but only time will tell. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "why does jordan get to be in the character tags but not brainwave" i think it would personally really piss him off to not be there.
> 
> also yes the "larry's not sure if he's into redheads" line was deliberate.


End file.
